


i got the heat of a mother hen

by goodbyechunkylemonmilk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, M/M, Speed Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyechunkylemonmilk/pseuds/goodbyechunkylemonmilk
Summary: When Regulus opens the door, Sirius barges inside like this is a completely ordinary time to ambush someone. "I've been thinking," he says, and slams a briefcase down onto an end table, "about how you're going to die alone." Because there is no productive response to this that Regulus can see, he examines the case instead, recognizing it as a present from his sixteenth birthday that he absolutely did not pass on to Sirius. As Sirius has probably never been in an office building in his entire life, his motives for having stolen it are inscrutable. Sirius says, "That sounded mean," but doesn't rush to qualify it.





	i got the heat of a mother hen

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: flippant references to alcoholism, suicide/suicidal ideation, abusive childhoods, and a couple pretty vague references to a character's coming out of the closet process

By eight o'clock, Regulus is ordinarily starting to wind down. He has a cup of decaffeinated green tea and a piece of dry toast, waters his plants, reads one chapter of a book, and is ready for a night of restless tossing by nine sharp. Just as he's pressing the tea bag against the side of his cup, someone bangs on his door while also ringing the bell. It's so rude that it can only be a murderer or his brother, and he's tired enough to hope for the former. He peers through the peephole, but it's been covered.

When he opens the door, Sirius barges inside like this is a completely ordinary time to ambush someone. "I've been thinking," he says, and slams a briefcase down onto an end table, "about how you're going to die alone." Because there is no productive response to this that Regulus can see, he examines the case instead, recognizing it as a present from his sixteenth birthday that he absolutely did not pass on to Sirius. As Sirius has probably never been in an office building in his entire life, his motives for having stolen it are inscrutable. Sirius says, "That sounded mean," but doesn't rush to qualify it. He pops the latch, and Regulus can see that he's brought hair gel, a mass of black clothing, and an ominously large pair of scissors. He takes out the scissors, which look like they belong at a ribbon-cutting, and swings them around on one finger. Every time Regulus has almost adjusted to the life-flashing-before-his-eyes sensation of being around Sirius, the intensity somehow increases.

"Sit down," Sirius says, and so Regulus sits. He doesn't protest when the shears are applied to his hair, not even to grab a towel so that the clippings don't end up all over his couch. Sirius chatters as he cuts, displaying a lack of focus that Regulus finds less than comforting. "It's not that you're ugly, you know, it's just that you still dress like you're fourteen and wishing you could blend into the walls."

"Gee," Regulus says. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Sirius yanks a brush through his hair. "So I've never asked. You like...women?"

Regulus' entire face burns red, and he's grateful for the built-in excuse to avoid eye contact. Although it is, with a few minor exceptions, a theoretical exercise, he's pretty sure the correct answer to that question starts out, "Yes, and..." He's certainly helped Sirius duck enough of his former gentleman callers to know it won't be a problem, but it's easier to just agree, no qualifications, and so he does.

"Right." Sirius must decide that he's manhandled Regulus' hair into its ultimate form, because he stops tugging at it and goes back to rummaging through the case. He mutters, "Attractive to women... Attractive to women..." sort of thoughtfully, and then stows a mesh shirt back inside, as if it was ever a real contender. He pulls out a button-down and jeans, both a good deal less baggy than Regulus would prefer but at least solidly in the realm of clothes he's familiar with, and then turns his back. Regulus takes the opportunity to poke at his hair. It feels tall.

When Sirius turns back, he sighs. "Unbutton your collar; I'm not taking you to interview at an accounting firm."

"Where _are_ you taking me?" Regulus asks, but Sirius has already lost interest and is wandering around the kitchen. He takes a sip of tea, which must by now be cold and oversteeped, and then spits it into the sink.

"Two more buttons," he says. Regulus undoes one. "Fine." Sirius grabs him by the shoulders and stares very hard into his eyes before nodding and taking a step back. "Right. Just try to look a bit less like you've died, come back to life, and are getting ready to slit your wrists again, yeah?" Then they're out the door so quickly that there’s barely time to lock it.

Sirius' primary strategy for managing Regulus over the years has been to tell him what’s going to be done and leave no room for argument. It nearly always works, so his pointed avoidance of any questions as he hails a cab gives Regulus a very bad feeling. After being ignored for several minutes of standing on the curb, he says, "You know I have a car, right?"

"Yeah," Sirius says, eying an approaching cab like he might jump in front of it. "But you should drink at this thing. I'm hoping alcohol will make you more—"

"Charismatic?" Regulus offers. "Gregarious? Effervescent?"

Sirius says, "Tolerable," and then he does step into the street, banging the flat of his hand against the taxi that comes screeching to a halt in front of him.

They get out in front of a bar with an easel featuring a sloppily-drawn superhero and bubble letters that read "SPEED DATING TONIGHT!" Sirius puts a bracing, restraining hand on Regulus' arm. "It's like teaching a baby to swim. You just throw them in the deep end and see what happens."

"Christ," Regulus says, but Sirius propels him through the door and then he's being checked in, meaning his choice is between the immediate and definite humiliation of running out, and the removed, only mostly-guaranteed humiliation of going through with it. He screws up his nametag three times after Sirius tells him midway through the first one that he has prissy handwriting.

He looks around and realizes that there are three sections, divided so that people can participate regardless of sexual orientation. That means Sirius actually planned this out, but as his carefully-formed plans have roughly the same track record of going up in flames as his random whims, knowing that doesn't make Regulus feel any better. Somewhere a bell rings, which is apparently the signal for them to take their seats because, foresight or not, Sirius has gotten them there barely on time. He squeezes Regulus' shoulder, doesn't really whisper, "Remember what I said," and then swans off to the men's area.

All Sirius has said is, "Smile for once in your dreary, clinically depressed life," and that Regulus has the handwriting of a high society woman's corpse, neither of which is hugely helpful, but he tries to focus on looking like he isn't already getting a headache from the music playing in the background. How he's supposed to charm another person to the tune of a man exhorting him to "strip that down" is simply beyond him.

Sirius is the kind of person who's naturally good at speed-dating, something Regulus can't help but resent since he is also the kind of person who absolutely doesn't need it. He's quick to size people up, so that while Regulus is listening to a woman discuss her biweekly mime club, Sirius has gone so visibly cold that his match-up falters and stops talking altogether.

The next woman squints at his name tag, which Sirius filled out in a nigh-illegible scrawl that Regulus knows for sure is an affectation because they learned penmanship from the same tutor. "Make them work for it," he said, and then something else, but Regulus was too busy trying not to die of embarrassment to hear it. The woman leans in a bit, and smiles, and is very obviously well out of his league. "I'm sorry, I can't read your tag." Speed dating, Regulus suspects, is meant for people with ordinary names like Tim or John or Dave, not people who hit their limit with saying, "no, a hard G" by age 10. He tells her though, since there isn't another option, and she lets out a little laugh and then seems surprised about having done it. "Sorry," she says, and laughs again. "But what kind of name is that, really?"

"An _ancestral_ one," Regulus snaps, which is a weird thing to say and which he knows is a weird thing to say, but by the time the hot flash of indignation dies down, it's already out.

He tries on the next woman the self-deprecating half-smirk Sirius sometimes uses when he's trying to pick up the barista selling him espresso after a late night, or any other time he's too tired to pull off saying his name like it's something anyone has ever thought of. She calls him Reginald and asks if he's feeling all right.

The woman after that doesn't even remember to ask his name until she's partway through a story about her shitty ex. It is, actually, deeply sympathetic, but between his own baggage and Sirius' much more dramatic version of the same, he doesn't have room for a third person who's going to need this much hand-holding. Also, she asks him what he does for a living and he says, "I have a trust fund," and only realizes three switches later that "independently wealthy" would have been the more mature, moderately less insufferable answer.

He's trying to remember which side the appendix is on so as to more convincingly fake a rupture when he's joined by a redhead with her hair tugged back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She's wearing a tight dress swamped in a flannel, like she made exactly one concession to the conceit of the night and is furious about it. As she adjusts her chair, she kicks Regulus in the shin with what must be, based on the bruise he can feel forming, steel-toed boots. She apologizes like she means it but doesn't particularly care if he accepts, then introduces herself in the same brisk tone before continuing, "I'll tell you right off, I'm only here to support my friend." She jerks her head toward the men's section. "He's never dated a guy before. So we can talk, but that's all I'm interested in."

Something in Regulus unclenches for the first time all night. "That's fine. I'm only here because my brother's worried I'll die alone and my corpse will be gnawed on by the dozens of cats I'll have adopted to ward off loneliness." Regulus likes to think he would have known better than to say this if Lily hadn't just taken herself off the table as a romantic option, but suspects that it isn't true. She laughs, anyway.  "Which one's your friend?"

Lily twists around in her seat, and as Regulus follows her gaze, his heart sinks. "The guy in the glasses talking to the vampy, strung-out looking one."

Regulus tries to arrange his face into something suitably loyal, but he can't stop the last bit of a laugh. "That's my brother."

"Oh." Lily turns to look at them again. Sirius steals a drink off of a neighboring table and downs it in one go. "Is he...all right?"

"Not particularly." As they watch, Sirius leans in, an intense look on his face, and draws James into a kiss that almost immediately deepens into a no-holds-barred makeout session.

Lily faces forward again, rolling her eyes. "Oh, _that’s_ classy. So much for being nervous about coming out." She shakes her head. “Right, forget it.” She smiles, and Regulus’ mouth goes suddenly and irrevocably dry. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know. Your brother just unhinged his jaw and swallowed my ex’s face whole; we’re _basically_ family.”

Regulus laughs despite himself. “I hope that isn’t true, or my family’s a lot bigger than I thought.” Then what she’s said actually sinks in. “You brought your ex to speed-dating?”

“James and I went to school together, and sometime around fifteen, he decided he was in _love_ with me.” Lily waves a dismissive hand through the air. “It was a very dramatic couple years. But I could sort of see the appeal once he’d calmed down a bit and was able to, you know, watch romantic movies without either sobbing about how they reminded him of us, or going on about how they had nothing on our love story. So we dated, and it was--fine.” She glances behind her like James might have materialized for the express purpose of getting his feelings hurt. Once she’s sure the coast is clear, she continues, “But he was only just coming to terms with his bisexuality, and he needed to be able to do that without feeling obligated to me or anyone else.”

Regulus tries not to wonder what she would say about him. "How gracious of you."

“Well.” She pauses to take a sip of her cocktail, which the bar serves in mason jars that Regulus isn’t convinced are properly clean. “And he was _such_ an awful boyfriend. Needy, overbearing. The works.”

Regulus snorts. "You just described Sirius' exact type. Maybe this isn't as doomed as it could be."

"How reassuring.” Lily waves her swizzle stick through the air. “In case you’re wondering, I don’t feel weird telling you any of this because he has exactly _no_ boundaries and wouldn’t mind at all.”

She spends the rest of their time telling him about her job, which is with a non-profit dedicated to solving a problem Regulus hadn't realized existed. She's very nearly talked him into weekly volunteer shifts when the bell rings. On the other side of the room, James tries to stand up, but Sirius pulls him back down. He gestures for the man approaching to go around them to the next table, and when that doesn't work, flips him off. Regulus resists the urge to hide his face in his hands, and hopes instead that no one remembers them walking in together.

 

 

Once the event is finally, blessedly over, Regulus makes a beeline for the front door before realizing that Sirius isn't moving to follow. Lily seems to be on the same page, because she winds up standing next to him, arms crossed over her chest. James and Sirius hold onto their table through several minutes of a worker standing over them with a rag and a spray bottle of cleaning solution, but they eventually give in.

James is cute in an over-compensatory sort of way, thick glasses and a trendy haircut. He's in decent shape, the kind that says _I play football on the weekends and take it much too seriously_ , but considering that Sirius is currently screening calls from two professional athletes, he's something of a step down. He shakes Regulus' hand with the one that isn't holding Sirius', as if it's really that important to make a good first impression on the brother of a man he met while speed dating, and also as if he and Sirius haven't been publicly examining each other's tonsils in the same claustrophobic room that Regulus has been striking out in for the last forty-five minutes. Regulus shakes his hand anyway, mostly because when he hesitates, Sirius looks murderous.

"It's _so_ nice to finally meet you," James says. Sirius mouths _finally?_ behind his back, but he's still smiling, soft and dumb. "I've heard so much about you."

"Have you?" Regulus asks, a bit charmed despite himself. Lily groans audibly.

"Yes, and I'm really looking forward to getting to know you better. But tonight we have plans, right, Sirius?"

Sirius looks smaller, like he's settled into his skin for the first time in his life. "James is going to take me to this 24-hour diner he knows. Apparently their waffles are to die for." He says _James_ the way someone else might say _God_ , and the rest like he's embarrassed about it.

"Is that a euphemism?" Regulus asks.

Sirius is still gazing tenderly at James when he says, “Do us both a favor and be cool for once in your life.”

"Be nice, babe," James says, without bothering to temper his wide-eyed adoration even a bit. Sirius smiles his way through an apology with uncharacteristic ease, and is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. James lets go of his hand and grabs Lily by the shoulders, pulling her into a hug that she accepts with the tired grace of someone who has learned that there's no point to complaining, though she does roll her eyes at Regulus. "I just wanted to thank you for pushing me to do this. I never would have made it here without you, and I'm so—" He breaks off to look at Sirius, who doesn't even seem to have noticed the bartender who's been making eyes at him since they first gathered by the door. "I'm so glad I did." Lily pats him on the back with the very tips of her fingers, and finally he releases her and reclaims Sirius' hand, which results in him being pulled bodily from the building.

Lily watches them go with a look of consternation that dwarfs Regulus' own. Just as he’s about to struggle his way through a goodbye, she says, hands on her hips, "My _numerous_ concerns about this match-up aside, he drove me here."

Regulus only learned to drive because once a year or so, Sirius experiences a burst of brotherly sentiment and shows up at his flat with the intention of stowing him in his motorbike’s sidecar for a road trip of unspecified duration. He feels like a real-life action hero pulling his key ring from his pocket until he remembers that his car is still parked neatly in its dedicated spot back at his flat. He slumps a bit, then rallies. "I took a cab, but I only live a short walk away, so if you're any further, I could still give you a ride."

Lily looks him over like she's trying to decide whether he's going to murder her. Or, more likely, whether she could take him if he tried. He must look either harmless or helpless, because she shrugs and says, "All right," like she's doing him a favor, and then, "Thank you," in the same tone. He's embarrassed to realize that he does feel a bit grateful, as if being bullied into a night out and promptly abandoned isn't a fundamental condition of being Sirius' brother.

"Should I be worried about James?" Lily asks after two minutes of walking in uncomfortable silence. "Your brother doesn't exactly seem like a starter guy. And James is..." She trails off in a sigh that makes Regulus think she's about to confess to a long-hidden love, or else tell him that James is terminal. People don't ordinarily confide in him; he squares his shoulders and tries to look deserving of the secret. Lily laughs. "He's _so_ dumb."

"Sirius isn't exactly an interpersonal genius either." Lily doesn't smile, so he rushes to add, "Ordinarily, I would say yes. Sirius maintains not one but two dummy flats for guys who are cute enough to hook up with but haven’t ‘earned’ his real name or address. He once _thought_ a guy was going to break up with him, so he slept with his dad. He--”

“Oh my _God_.” Lily throws up her hands in disgust. “Please don’t tell me another thing about your brother, ever. I’m this close to calling in a bomb threat to the diner just to get James out of there.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I can’t say with more than 45% certainty what Sirius is going to do, ever, but I’ve never seen him look at someone the way he looked at James. So I would describe myself as...hesitantly optimistic?”

Lily flips off a man who's rolled down his widow to leer at her. "Well, all right. I just don't want James getting hurt. He's surprisingly vulnerable for a douchebag."

Sirius is nearly always the "winner" of his break-ups, in that he tends to initiate them, and if things turn nasty, he has a compendium of his ex's flaws ready to go. But it's hard to really come out on top when you're carting around the sheer mass of baggage that he is. "I don't want Sirius getting hurt either."

“James is incapable of breaking anyone’s heart. As we speak, he’s probably snuck off to the bathroom to hire a caterer for a tacky, sports-themed wedding.” Lily’s ended up a bit ahead of Regulus, and she turns around to make eye contact with him, still walking. “This is a trendy neighborhood,” she says, in a way that sounds more like a question than a compliment.

“It happened after I moved in.” He gestures to a store advertising olive oil and balsamic testings. “I won’t take responsibility for that.”

“You poor thing,” Lily says, dry. Everything about his life looks petty and ridiculous next to her. “So you don’t work. What _do_ you do?”

This is, Regulus thinks, an unspeakably rude question, but he finds himself wishing for a better answer. “I read a lot. I pick Sirius up from bars when he’s had too much to drink. I have plants.” Put like this, he realizes, he sounds less like a person and more like a collection of obligations and coping mechanisms. “I feed the stray cats in my neighborhood, do a sort of catch-and-release thing.”

“Really?” Lily’s eyes light up, but before Regulus can revel in the feeling of success, she pulls her phone from her pocket and says into it, cheerily, “Hey, dick. Remembered me, did you?” She pauses to listen. “Yeah, I'm cold and alone and _probably_ going to get murdered, so that's a downer. I hope your date was worth it. … God, I’m kidding. Regulus is giving me a ride. And if he weren’t, James, I could get a car.”

James says, loudly enough for Regulus to hear from the other side of the pavement, “Oh my God, Lils, we can _double date!_ ” She makes a face and hangs up without saying goodbye.

Before Regulus can figure out what to say, his phone buzzes with a text from Sirius. “b+ better than expected,” and then the follow-up, “theres no way you close tho.” He can feel himself blushing.

Lily doesn’t seem to be anywhere near as mortified as Regulus. “James is a compulsive matchmaker, especially when he’s in a relationship. Which I guess is what this is now.”

Regulus clears his throat. If he were Sirius, or really anyone but himself, he would make a move now. Instead, he gestures to the intersection they’re approaching. “We should--We need to cross here.”

Lily has probably the most piercing gaze Regulus has ever seen, and he feels somehow entirely certain that she knows what the messages on his screen say. But she must not, because she doesn’t start yelling, or push him into traffic. He hasn’t known her very long, but he’s pretty sure she would. “Okay then.”

As they draw even with his car, Regulus holds his breath and tries to marshal the strength to continue. He can’t, now that they’re here, beg off just because he’s pretty sure he’s going to hyperventilate. Just because, Sirius would say, he’s never spent more than five seconds alone with a woman in his life. When he opens his eyes again, Lily is watching him across the roof of the car. She looks softer than he remembers.

“Are you okay?” she asks. He nods. “Then, I mean, not to be insensitive, but could you unlock the door?”

Regulus thinks longingly of his bed, with its freshly-laundered sheets and extra-firm pillow and white noise machine. He considers making a run for it. He hits the button on his key fob and pulls the door open.

His car smells like cheeseburgers because Sirius has to be fed and watered after nights out, and not only eats like a wild animal but has the tendency to hide his trash. Lily doesn’t say anything about it, and he’s too embarrassed to bring it up, so he just has to hope the true cause is self-evident. He pulls down the visor, relieved to finally have the opportunity to check his hair. It’s wilted, a bit lopsided. He’s been poking at it all night, trying to generate an image of it through touch alone, but even disheveled, it isn’t as bad as he’d feared. He considers admitting this the next time he sees Sirius, but decides against it and the resulting ego boost.

“I’m guessing your brother did your hair.” Lily looks him over. “Picked the clothes, too?” Regulus glances down at his bare forearms, feelings exposed. Sirius rolled the sleeves of his shirt in the cab and then pinned them in place. He said, in response to Regulus’ baffled acquiescence, “Otherwise you’ll fidget with them. You’ve got a real nervous energy, and women are going to think you’re a baby serial killer trolling for prey. Or worse, a pussy.”

Regulus nods, and Lily makes a noncommittal noise, which _could_ mean a lot of things, but _probably_ means she thinks it’s pathetic that he needed his big brother’s help to definitely not even get any dates. “So the two of you are close then?”

“Well,” Regulus says. He and Sirius are certainly closer to each other than to anyone else, but that isn’t the same as being _close_ , a capacity stolen from them by their upbringing.

Lily doesn’t seem to hear his hesitance, because she says, voice odd, face turned away. “That must be nice.”

“Well,” Regulus says again. Then he feels guilty, ungrateful, so even though he wouldn’t describe anything about Sirius as _nice_ , he adds, “He’s--a good guy at heart.” This is such a lie that Regulus feels obligated to amend it, even in the absence of a protest. “I mean, considering.”

Lily doesn’t ask what needs to be taken into consideration. She says, totally dry-eyed and without a hint of irony, “I’m sorry, I’m not usually all weepy. It’s getting late.”

Regulus, who is very often _actually_ weepy, knows he ought to offer some comfort, but instead he says, “You’re right. We should probably get going.”

Regulus needs his GPS to get pretty much anywhere; he moved out two years ago and only stopped using it to get to the grocery store last week. So he’s impressed when Lily starts directing him down winding backroads he’s never heard of. It’s a nice drive, even if someone rides his bumper the entire time. Lily says, “People ordinarily drive a bit faster on these roads,” but when he tells her that he’s chosen his speed based on the road conditions and his own skill level, she laughs, and for someone who ordinarily assumes everyone is laughing at him, he’s surprisingly disinclined to take it personally. And he sees a horse wearing a polka dot sweater, which is oddly cheering.

Lily directs him to pull over in front of a nondescript building in a neighborhood he can already tell is going to be hell to find his way out of. He parks and unlocks the doors, unable to figure out why he feels something has been left unfinished. Lily unfastens her seatbelt but doesn’t move. “I would give you my number, you know, if you asked. And if you swear to hold the line on double-dating.”

Regulus is officially one hundred percent certain that socializing isn’t worth it, as he feels like he’s going to have a heart attack and die. There is absolutely no chance he’s going to find whatever it is other people have inside of himself, at least not in time to ask Lily out, which means this night is somehow even more of a waste than he’d thought possible. He tries to hear what the words would sound like coming out of his mouth, but nothing happens. He figures if he stays really still with his hands on the wheel, eventually Lily will get bored and give up on him.

“All I _really_ need to hear is that I’m not going to end up doing mimosas and avocado toast with the world’s most nauseating couple. Are you with me on that?” Regulus grits out a yes. “Good, because I think you’re sweet, but that’s non-negotiable.” Nothing in Regulus’ life has prepared him for being called “sweet,” but it feels good nonetheless. Lily puts her hand over his, just for a second, and tosses a neatly-folded square of paper into his lap. “So do what you need to do, have the panic attack, but then give me a call, all right?” She presses a kiss to his cheek and then lets herself out of the car.

 

 

 

Regulus confiscated the spare key to his flat several months ago, so it's moderately disturbing to wake up to Sirius snoring on his couch. Only _moderately_ because they didn't exactly grow up in a household that emphasized personal boundaries, and also while he doesn't want to die quite the way he did when he was a teenager, he can't help feeling a disconnect from his own well-being that sometimes make him cross against the light or veer toward the guardrails when he drives over bridges.

It is Sirius, of course, and so Regulus turns on all the lights, and when that doesn't work, he hits the 'test' button on his carbon monoxide detector, and when that doesn't work, he presses a decorative pillow very lightly to Sirius' face. Sirius returns to consciousness with a calm that doesn't match his airways being cut off. He hits Regulus on the arm once, and again, and then tugs the pillow away to reveal that he's woken up smiling.

"Wow," he says. "So _this_ is what it’s like to wake up without a hangover. Sort of overrated."

Regulus has understood for years that it would be a waste of time to sit around feeling sad that he won't ever know the brother capable of coping with everyday life without drinking, that he won't ever know the self capable of coping with everyday life, period. So he doesn't bother. He takes the joke in the spirit it was meant, and lets out a chuckle. "Did you have a nice night?"

Sirius either doesn't hear or pretends not to notice the mocking undertone to Regulus' voice. "James took me on a personalized tour of the city. He showed me the field where he scored his first goal. The restaurant his parents always took him to on his birthday. A tree he broke his leg falling out of. We drove around for _hours_."

"What's so special about him then?" Regulus suspects that he would ordinarily feel a good deal more robbed about Sirius, who has no problem orchestrating casual dalliances, also making a genuine emotional connection when he has experienced neither himself. He's still reeling, though, from Lily's lips on his cheek, from how soft her voice was when she called him sweet, which should have felt like and maybe was a dismissal, except that she doesn't seem like the kind of woman who kisses men out of pity.

Sirius puts the pillow back over his face, which doesn't make the cheer in his voice any less disconcerting when he says, "He's so nice." And then he just stops, like that’s a self-contained statement, like that has ever been a trait he's aspired to or sought out. Like Regulus is supposed to say, "Oh, right, you, who once dumped someone for remembering your coffee order, are now looking for a _nice young man_." He lets the silence simmer instead, until Sirius tugs the pillow down far enough that their eyes meet. "I don't mean nice. He can be a bit self-involved, actually."

Regulus doesn't say, "No shit," because when he got home last night, he copied Lily's number into his phone, and at some point, he'll get up the courage to use it.

"I mean _good_ ," Sirius says, and retreats fully behind the cushion, leaving Regulus to parse that on his own. He decides to make breakfast instead, as Sirius doesn't need any encouragement to be cryptic and annoying. He's just about to retrieve what is probably his best poached egg to-date from a pot of boiling water when Sirius materializes behind him and says, "I told him about our parents." Regulus drops the egg and it sizzles sadly against the burner, immediately forgotten.  

" _Why_? I mean--" As Regulus struggles to find the words to properly express his incredulity, Sirius' phone plays a very tinny two second clip of a pop song. Sirius pulls it from his pocket like he might actually die if he can't read his messages, and the goofy grin that spreads unchecked across his face makes Regulus feel like he's in some kind of bodysnatcher film.

"James changed it," Sirius says after a full minute of staring at his screen. "He says it’s _our song_. It was playing when we first met." As far as Regulus knows, Sirius doesn't listen to music unless he can use it to annoy or scare someone, but if he does, it almost certainly isn't this.

The clip plays three more times while Regulus tries to decide on the kindest possible way to ask Sirius if he's completely lost his mind. He lands on, "Should I be googling how to recognize a TBI, or is this some kind of nervous breakdown?"

Sirius looks at him, just this side of beatific, then squeezes his shoulder in an oddly paternal gesture. "Don't worry, you'll understand someday. And until then, I've read that jealousy can make adult acne worse, so. Might wanna keep that in mind." He makes a gesture that encompasses Regulus' compromised T-zone.

Regulus snatches Sirius' phone, which would ordinarily earn him a hair-pull at the very least, but now just results in some aimless grabbing. Meeting your soulmate at equal opportunity speed dating apparently makes you soft. James is saved under his name and then a string of emoji that includes the face with hearts for eyes, which doesn't seem like Sirius, and the eggplant, which does. At 4 a.m., James sent, "miss you already xo," so that must have been a bit after Sirius picked the lock and collapsed on Regulus' couch. He's sent about a half dozen in the last five minutes, starting with "good morning!" even though they're coming up on 1 o'clock, and concluding with, "when can i see you again?" The ones in the middle are links to Buzzfeed quizzes.

"You told _this guy_ about our parents?" Regulus can't help but feel slightly betrayed. He'd thought they were on the same page about suffering—not in silence, obviously, because Sirius has never done anything in silence—but in mutual solitude.

"Fuck you." Sirius takes his phone back and tucks it away. "He didn't get it at all."

He's still smiling, the dumb, easy expression Regulus has never, ever seen on his face before. "And that's—a good thing?"

"Do you want to know the first thing he said to me?" Sirius doesn't wait for Regulus' response, which would have been a pettily dishonest _not really_. "Well, the actual first thing he said was, 'Fuck, you're _really_ attractive.' But after that. James told me, 'I've only just realized I’m bisexual, so I'll need you to bear with me.'" He gets a faraway look in his eyes. "I mean, who _says_ that? To a _stranger_?"

"Well, apparently it works, so maybe we should all be mining our emotional problems for pick-up lines. You’ll have a lot to work with."

"He wasn't even embarrassed.” Sirius’ phone goes off again, and after seeing the look on Regulus’ face, he silences it and turns it over with performative care. “So yeah, I told him about our parents. And even though he didn’t get it, he was really...” He pauses, mulling it over.

Regulus tries to retain the feeling of goodwill that was flooding through him not ten minutes ago. “If you say ‘nice’ again, or ‘good,’ I’ll _scream_.”

“He didn’t treat me any differently, all right? Not like he pitied me, not like it freaked him out. Just like--Like he could see me for who I was. I’ve never met anyone who did that.”

Regulus focuses on double-checking that he’s turned off the stove instead of wondering how that would feel. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. But speaking of, you and Evans?” Sirius ruffles Regulus’ hair, stiff from last night’s primping. “Good work, little bro. She’s cute, in an uptight, _Taming of the Shrew_ sort of way.”

“Don’t be a dick. What would your boyfriend say if he heard that?”

Sirius has balked at having the word “boyfriend” applied to himself as long as Regulus can remember, but now he just shrugs. “He thinks my humor is one of my best qualities, so he’d probably laugh.”

“Oh, _God_. Happiness is really going to make you insufferable, isn’t it?” Regulus watches as his egg chars to a crisp and stops smoking. He should clean it now, while it's not too bad, but can already tell that he won’t.

“Seems like it. Who knew, right?” Sirius does the shoulder-squeeze again; Regulus hopes it won’t become a staple of his new, apparently contented self. “And hey, maybe it’ll make you insufferable, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> > \--He does take all the sexual tension out of a room.
>> 
>> \--Man, I heat up every room I walk into. Put me next to a dozen eggs. They hatching. You know why? 'Cause I got the heat of a mother hen.
> 
> if this new girl quote isn't the regulus vibe to end all regulus vibes then idk what is
> 
> and i do know about the weird thing the italics are doing and i am incandescent with rage about it. i'm changing them as i see them


End file.
